


Convention Shenanigans

by NightsMistress



Category: Young Wizards - Diane Duane
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:32:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightsMistress/pseuds/NightsMistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carmela and Dairine go to a convention at the Crossings where, surprisingly enough, the Lone Power does not make an appearance.  It's a nice change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Convention Shenanigans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lightningrani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningrani/gifts).



It was a dreary Autumn day, overcast without even the promise of some sun, and with enough bite to the breeze that it caused even the hardiest of New Yorkers to reach for a coat. The novelty of school had long worn off, leaving behind the hard realization that there were too many days until the school break and not enough weekends to complete all of the assigned schoolwork. This was especially so for students in their final year of high school, who were considering what the future would hold for them the next year. If Carmela had had any plans to stay home, these things might have put a dampener on even her spirits. Fortunately, she had other plans.

“Kit,” she called, folding her arms as she stared at the wreckage that they called their storage cupboard. Suitcases, boxes marked ‘baby things’ and ‘art projects’, unwanted gifts and what looked to be at least six pairs of Kit’s shoes were stacked up haphazardly as deep as Carmela could see, making it extremely hard for her to see what she was after. “Where is the large suitcase?”

“Where you last left it,” Kit yelled back from the living room downstairs, where he was watching a nature documentary. “Why do you even need it anyway?”

“You can’t ask a girl that,” Carmela said. As she got up on her toes, she was finally able to see where the suitcase was hiding. It was, as she already knew, not where she had left it because that would have meant it was on the middle of her floor being used as a temporary laundry basket. Instead, it was wedged up behind an old science experiment of Kit’s from middle school and Helena’s old clothes. “Found it!” she announced to the world.

The next challenge was removing the suitcase from where it had been wedged. Taking it out without causing an unstoppable cascade of falling items would be nearly impossible. Carmela had two options available to her: use a smaller suitcase that would mean she had to leave things behind, or use the suitcase she needed and leave the person who would access the storage cupboard to risk their luck. The next person to access the cupboard would be Kit, and it was his fault that it was in this state in the first place. Carmela therefore felt no guilt as she pulled the suitcase out and closed the door quickly afterward.

After the difficulty of finding the suitcase, actually packing it was far simpler. Carmela had a great deal of experience with packing for conventions, albeit ones far closer than an interstellar space station, and so had the fine art of packing clothes, makeup and toiletries, first aid kit and a book down. She also knew that convention food was ridiculously expensive, so she raided the kitchen next, wheeling her suitcase behind her as she grazed through the cupboards to find all the food that she liked and didn’t want eaten while she was gone.

That done, she tested the weight of her suitcase and made a face. She hadn’t planned this packing trip at all well: she should have done all of her packing in her room to access her wardrobe, and now she would have to drag it back up the stairs. On the other hand, there was a wizard sitting in the living room who could teleport her over, which was a far easier option.

“Kit, I need your help,” Carmela said.

“I’m not taking it up the stairs for you,” Kit said, not even looking away from his television program.

“Why not?”

“It’s your own fault it’s down here.”

Now that she had established that she was there and she needed a method of transport to the Callahans’ house, Carmela enacted the next stage of her plan: staring at Kit until he agreed to help. It wasn’t mature, but she had been using it on Kit since he was very young and so it was effective.

Under her gaze, Kit shifted. He scowled as he tried to concentrate on the television screen to the exclusion of Carmela. Finally he sighed in resignation that she had won yet again.

“You’re going to keep doing that until I do what you want, right?”

“That’s right,” Carmela said brightly. “And it’s not just a favor to me! You get an excuse to go and see Nita.”

“I don’t need an excuse to see Nita, we’re partners,” Kit said, but blushed. Kit’s new relationship with Nita was as amusing as it was predictable, and Carmela delighted in teasing him about it whenever possible.

“Of course,” Carmela said. “I believe you. Which is why you should teleport me. And if you teleport us a little faster, that’ll mean you’ll have more smoochie time.”

“Oh my god,” Kit said, burying his face in his hands. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” Carmela said, and waited. Though she couldn’t see Kit’s expression, past experience suggested that it would be a mixture of embarrassment, resignation and annoyance, which was not unusual when Carmela was trying to get Kit to do something.

“Fine,” Kit sighed, pushing himself to his feet and fishing a piece of string from his pocket. “There was nothing good on TV anyway.” He dropped the string gradually as he turned slowly on his heel, creating a rough outline for the teleportation circle. Carmela stepped inside, carefully lifting her suitcase over the string so as to not disrupt the lines.

“By the way, my name today is…” Carmela said, and rattled off her unique name in the Speech. Nita had given Carmela a working copy of her name after their last shopping trip, and Carmela had been editing it to be a better reflection of who she was. Kit raised an eyebrow at some of the modifications made, but said nothing, which was for the best. Carmela was willing to die on the hill of the superiority of Spongebob as a social satire, after all.

“Ready?” he said instead.

“Ready,” she replied.

She heard Kit mutter the teleportation spell under his breath, and she wondered whether there was a more elegant way to phrase the spell. It worked, she had to admit, but she was sure that she could make it sound better. It helped distract her from the moment of disorientation as they moved from the Rodriguez living room to the Callahan yard.

As she blinked away the feeling that she should be at _home_ and not _here_ , she was greeted by the rather intense gaze of Dairine Callahan, suitcase in hand.

“There you are! How did you get tickets, anyway? I thought you had to be on the waiting list for _years_. And know someone in the committee!”

“Hello to you too,” Carmela said. “Is Nita around? I promised Kit smoochies.”

“Could you not?” Kit sighed.

“Yeah, she’s up in the house pretending that she’s not incredibly jealous,” Dairine said, gesturing over her shoulder.

“I don’t think she’s pretending that hard,” Kit said. “Loud crowded spaces aren’t really Nita’s thing.”

“She’ll be jealous when we come back with all the merch,” Dairine said. “If she wants something, she can message me. I might be able to fit it in.”

“I’ll pass that on,” Kit said, as he slipped past Dairine into the house.

“Aw, young love,” Carmela said after Kit had shut the door. “Teasing him is never going to get old.”

“If you say so,” Dairine said with a shrug. “Anyway, how did you get the tickets?”

“I’m owed a favor,” Carmela said. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready for _days_ ,” Dairine said fervently.

“That’s good. If you weren’t I’d have to bring Kit and he’d make a terrible plus one,” Carmela said, handing over Dairine’s entry pass. “He would spend the whole time pining for Nita.”

“I don’t think Nita would,” Dairine said.

Carmela was confident that Nita would manage to stir up some trouble if she didn’t get in her regularly scheduled smooches. Whether that was better or worse than Kit pining was a matter to be determined.

“Do you have your costumes in there?” Carmela asked, eyeing off Dairine’s suitcase. It didn’t look big enough to fit everything in it, but she could have modified it with a claudication.

Dairine shook her head. “Nah. Spot can modify what I have.”

“Can he do me too?” After all, cosplaying authenticity was one thing, but when one was trying to pack for space travel, one learned to prioritise certain things. Carmela had packed all of her cosplay makeup and a couple of generic pieces that she could throw together into a costume, but very little that would make a cosplay really stand out. She had accepted that this would be the case, but now there was an alternative...

“Yeah, I guess,” Dairine said. “But you have to help me choose mine. And we’re not hauling these suitcases around; I have a claudication if you want to put yours in there.”

“Deal,” Carmela said, grinning broadly. Bringing Dairine along was paying dividends already.

*

  
Since the events involving the Pullullus, Carmela had spent quite a bit of time at the Crossings. In part, it was self-interest: as a consequence of her having helped save the station she had been rewarded with enough vouchers to satisfy even her wandering eye and she fully intended to use them all. Carmela was also genuinely fond of the place. It was always changing, and today was no exception.

Today, in amongst the usual fixtures of the Crossings, there were signs for registration dependent on the convention goers’ physiology. Although Carmela had been to a number of conventions before, she could still feel a thrill of excitement in her stomach.

Unfortunately it seemed that whatever was to happen, it was not going to happen any time soon. Carmela had assumed that as the convention was reasonably exclusive the line for carbon based oxygen-breathing attendees would be short. This was sadly, sadly untrue. She had been warned that the conventions on Earth were similar to ones on other worlds, but she had not expected the similarities to appear so soon.

“I’ll get our room assignments,” Dairine said with a heavy sigh, as she studied the line. “Assuming I don’t die of old age here.”

Carmela raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. You arranged this, so I can wait in line,” Dairine said. She seemed to reconsider after a moment, adding, “We can take turns.”

“Well,” Carmela said. “I have someone here I want to see.”

“Say hi to Sker’ for me,” Dairine said, reaching into her messenger bag to ease Spot out.

Before Dairine could change her mind, Carmela peeled away from the line and took a detour to the Stationmaster’s office. She paused at the entrance and rapped on the wall to attract Sker’ret’s attention. Sker’ret, who seemed to have his many hands full with controls and levers, still managed to spare a set to wave to Carmela.

“You took up my offer!” he said, gesturing at her to come in.

“Of course!” she said, bounding over to hug him. “You’re my favorite cute little centipede.”

“Aren’t I the only one?” Sker’ret said, tilting his head to emphasise his sardonic words.

“That doesn’t make you any less my favorite,” Carmela said, poking him gently with a finger.

“I’ll forgive you,” Sker’ret said, “If you tell me that you brought Dairine along.”

“I did, and she says hi,” Carmela said, gracing him with a smile. “She volunteered to collect our assigned rooms.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Sker’ret said. “Maybe I’ll see her later.”

“I’ll pass it on.” Carmela took a moment to survey Sker’ret with a critical eye. “You’re not working too hard, are you?”

“Not at the moment,” Sker’ret said, glancing quickly at one of his monitors. “It depends what you get up to while you’re here.”

“Nothing without you,” Carmela promised and Sker’ret sighed.

“I really wish I could go with you. It looks like this year is going to be the best CrossCon yet. But …” and he gestured evocatively at the various interfaces that made up his ‘desk’. “Work calls.”

“We’ll see if we can bring it to you,” Carmela said. “Unwashed bodies and all.”

“I look forward to it.”

*

“You know,” Dairine said thoughtfully, sitting on the edge of one of the two beds in the room, “We could record it for him.”

“Yeah?” Carmela said, sitting up from where she had flopped on her bed. They’d been lucky; their room had been explicitly designed for humans and looked like a standard hotel room from an advertising photograph. For the other attendees, while they could expect to be in a room that would not interact drastically with their physiology, comfort was not guaranteed. Carmela suspected Sker’ret’s influence when it came to Carmela and Dairine’s room allocation.

“Spot can record everything we experience and then we can create a replica. Like a VR.”

Carmela thought about this.

“Will we get to wear futuristic cyberpunk glasses?”

“No.”

“ _Can_ we wear futuristic cyberpunk glasses?”

This time Dairine understood Carmela’s true question. “We do need to let people know we’re recording, after all.”

“Mine need to have purple highlights,” Carmela said thoughtfully. “Otherwise they won’t go with my outfit.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dairine said. “Spot?” At her word, Spot’s legs unfolded and it walked out from where Dairine had left it on the floor. “What do you want?” Dairine said, turning to Carmela.

Carmela pulled her phone out and scrolled through the photographs of costumes she’d been meaning to try. One costume, complete with the plate armor that she had had no way of putting in her suitcase, caught her eye. After all, what was the benefit of having magically gifted friends if you didn’t use them for a good purpose? “I think this is a good start…”

*

The first morning of a convention was always the easiest to wake up for, even if one had been up the previous night experimenting with wizardry for a costume. Carmela woke up just before her phone was set to go off, switching it to silent.

By the time she had finished having her shower and drying her hair, Dairine was lying on her stomach as she read Spot’s screen.

“Awake?” Carmela said.

“Ugh,” Dairine said, not looking away from Spot.

Carmela shrugged and pulled out her reference shot for her cosplay. She had decided ultimately to dress up as the lead character from an animated show that she marathoned last summer. It seemed that while the Xillber had access to human television, they had a very interesting take on what it meant, and Carmela had gotten hooked on their take on the magical girl genre. There were, after all, few television shows where the magical girl was a battle-hardened physical warrior who channeled her magic through the blows she struck with her magical warhammer, or at least ones with twelve seasons of episodes to watch. The quality wasn’t always the best, but the characters were endearing in spite of the plot and Carmela enjoyed the show immensely.

Dairine stalked out to the shower as Carmela selected what she needed to put together Princess Bloodthirsty’s costume. There was full plate armor, splattered artistically with the blood of the demons she befriended by beating them into submission, and emblazoned with the symbol of her royal house, something that looked like a cross between a honey badger and a very angry snake. She fished out from her luggage a necklace she had intended for another costume but was similar enough to pass for the pendant Princess Bloodthirsty used to transform from a six foot tall warrior to a six foot tall warrior with super strength and speed.

“Hmm,” Carmela hummed to herself as she tried to fashion her hair into the intricate braid that the character wore. The actual braid was physically impossible for anyone to replicate, but she adapted it with enough hairspray and hair pins to make her hair a fire risk.

Then she started the makeup. Princess Bloodthirsty was a descendent of something like a lizard and so Carmela used her makeup to give her face a more reptilian cast, turning her eyebrows into bony ridges and drawing the complicated symbols on her face that indicated Princess Bloodthirsty’s rank, clan, and status as a magical girl.

As she was finalising her look with the mascara wand, Dairine came back and stared.

“Something on my face?” Carmela said, eyebrows raised.

Dairine shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

Carmela waited. She was very good at waiting, and past experience suggested that Dairine was not very good at waiting.

“My mom used to make that face when she was putting her mascara on,” Dairine said finally, sounding very young.

“You want a go?”

Dairine blinked, taking in the rest of the makeup that Carmela had put on. “I’m good,” she said.

“Well, the offer’s out there to show you the tricks of the trade. Winged eyeliner is a girl’s best friend!”

Dairine continued to look startled for a minute, before laughing. “So is that how you keep everyone on their toes?”

“No, that’s just natural talent,” Carmela said. “I just like wearing it.”

“I figured, with all that on,” Dairine said, shrugging. It seemed that the melancholy mood of earlier was dispelled. “Doesn’t it take forever to do?”

“Not that long,” Carmela said. “Besides, you can’t rush art.” She blinked once, to make sure that her mascara wouldn’t smear, and took a moment to examine her reflection in the mirror. While it wasn’t a perfect cosplay of Princess Bloodthirsty the Hammer Witch, ibecause Carmela was not six foot tall and could not casually throw a warhammer as if it weighed nothing more than a feather, it would do.

The finishing touch were the recording glasses that Spot had made. Carmela slid them onto her nose and smirked at her reflection.

“Now I’m ready.”

“I still think that show is stupid,” Dairine said, continuing an argument that they had been having for weeks now. She adjusted her costume, a sleek hooded spysuit with nearly impenetrable shadows under the hood. As Dairine fiddled with the controls, the spysuit turned quasi-invisible. Carmela was suitably impressed.

“It’s a deconstruction of the magical girl genre,” Carmela said.

Dairine gave her a very cockeyed look. “Is that what they call it?”

“It’s better in the original language,” Carmela said.

“Uh huh,” Dairine said, as she settled the hood over her head and used the mirror to tuck in stray wisps of hair. Carmela watched in interest as her hair went from bright red to translucent as it was slipped under the folds of the fabric.

“And who are you meant to be?” Carmela said, her eyebrows rising. Dairine slid on her own pair of glasses, which glinted dangerously in the shadow of her hood.

Dairine answered by whistling a short sequence of notes, before shifting to English. “She’s the lead in this new game. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

Admittedly, Dairine was right. Carmela didn’t recognise who Dairine was meant to be, but that didn’t mean that she had to like her attitude. She made a note to get her back for that later.

“I bet I will after today,” Carmela said instead, fetching her access pass for the day. It wrapped around her wrist securely, going comfortably warm for a moment as it adjusted its appearance to match the bare skin of her wrist and hand. Dairine copied the gesture, before reaching up to the side of her glasses. Carmela blinked as she saw faint overlay over everything for a second on the lenses of her glasses, before it faded away.

“We’re recording,” Dairine said. “Let’s go.”

*

Carmela was surprised to find out that no matter where a convention was held, they were laid out in a similar way. It could be that the Powers like to see a good idea used whenever possible and so circulated it, or just a strange coincidence that crops up the galaxy over. Whatever it was, it meant that the Dealer’s Room, for all that it was full of beings from different species, was still full of beings dressed up as various fictional characters, poring over merchandise.

Carmela and Dairine had decided early that the best way to maximise the footage for the simulation would be to split up, and after collecting the programming schedule, they divided up the panels between them. Fortunately, Carmela and Dairine were, for the most part, interested in different panels: Carmela was far more interested in the panels about worldbuilding, whereas Dairine wanted to attend the gaming tournament sessions to show the other attendees what humans were capable of. However, they had arrived early and so had time to spare. The Dealer’s Room was still being set up, but there was enough there that Carmela and Dairine had something to pass the time with.

There were also a number of other cosplayers there, some in cosplay and some not. Carmela admired the group of bipeds all wearing identical military fatigues with iron-stiff precision. They had remarkably good replicas of the chronoskimming devices used by the Time Travelling Division of the French Foreign Legion.

Impulsively, Carmela complimented how well they filled out their uniforms in French. The group all started in surprise, clearly puzzling out what she had said. The one wearing the officer insignia caught on first, a knowing grin sneaking across his face. He was attractive, in a way that reminded Carmela of storybook pictures of elves, though that was offset by the scar he had drawn up or perhaps enhanced on his face.

He returned the compliment in French he said as they left. Carmela grinned, and moved onto the next merchandise booth. She also ignored Dairine’s raised eyebrow on the grounds that Dairine was too young to understand what had happened.

“Should I leave you two alone so you can run after him?” Dairine said archly after a moment.

“I don’t run,” Carmela said thoughtfully. “But I might allow him to catch me later. It depends if he stays interesting or not.”

“I doubt it,” Dairine said. “But it’s your bad decision to make.”

“And make it I will,” Carmela said, browsing the official merchandise booths for clues as to what character Dairine was cosplaying as.

One thing that was different to her last convention was that some media outlets were experimenting with fully-immersive cels of scenes, where people could taste the salt of the ocean as one’s favorite character wished their lover good luck, or the tacky feeling of blood drying on their faces after a battle to reclaim the queendom.

“Oh,” Dairine said quietly. Carmela looked over at her, trying to make it look casual, and then realized that it didn’t matter as Dairine’s attention was captured utterly by what she had picked up. She was holding a cel from a traditional Wellakh play of the Burning. It was of the scene where the headstrong and emotionally volatile prince, now older but no wiser, appeared before his people and announced that they were safe from their sun. While he was shorter, and his hair red-gold instead of blond, there was something about the way he held his head and the line of his jaw that was reminiscent of Roshaun.

“Can I get a copy of what she’s holding? Wrapped to go,” Carmela said to the vendor as she nodded at Dairine. The vendor shrugged with all sixteen sets of tentacles. It was a very impressive sight.

“Can’t believe anyone would want that,” it said, wrapping up a copy of the cel in opaque stiff paper. “There aren’t even any Wellakhit here.”

 _There are no coincidences_ , Carmela has been told often enough by Kit. She liked to think that she able to pick up what the Powers were putting down, especially if it was as obvious as this.

“You’d be surprised,” Carmela said as she took the wrapped cel. She tapped Dairine on the shoulder and then placed the wrapped package in Dairine’s hand as she blinked, carefully not noticing how bright Dairine’s eyes were at that moment.

“What’s this?” Dairine said, and swallowed to clear her throat.

“A thank you gift for making sure I wasn’t the loneliest human here. Not that I would have been for long…”

Dairine tore open the end of the packaging and peeked inside. Then she blushed as red as her hair. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said.

“He does look like him a little.”

“Not really,” Dairine said, clearly trying too hard to be nonchalant. “His hair’s too red and he’s too naive.”

“He reminds me of you a little,” Carmela said.

“I hear that a _lot_ ,” Dairine said tartly. “It’s like no-one’s ever seen red hair before.”

“I dyed my hair that red once, it looked awful,” Carmela mused. “But you know that’s not what I meant.”

“You know, it’s a good thing that I have a gaming tournament to crush everyone in,” Dairine said with a smirk. “I’ll let them know you’re responsible when I camp their corpses.”

“A worthy goal,” Carmela said. “Run along now, I have credit to blow and a panel to see about profanity in the Seventh Age.”

“Seventh Age of what?”

“Don’t worry, you wouldn’t have heard of it,” Carmela said, and grinned at Dairine’s exasperated roll of her eyes.

*

Carmela had been looking forward to the panel about profanity usage in the Seventh Age of the Dir!achi Empire Animated Media. Unfortunately, it seemed like everyone else had the same idea, and the line snaked its way through the halls of the area cordoned off. The cool metallic walls, normally so interesting for Carmela to tap her fingers against when doing one of her chocolate trades, held no allure for her now, and she was relieved when she was one of the last allowed into the packed room.

“Princess!” she heard someone call. She turned around to see the time travelling Legion boy from earlier standing up and waving her over. “There’s a spare seat here.”

“Thanks,” she said, sitting down. She extended her hand, index and pinkie finger out and middle fingers folded towards her palm to touch his third and seventh fingers. It was a stretch, but by the way the delicate tendrils over his temples lifted up, it was a gesture he appreciated. “I’m Carmela.”

“I’m Sindre,” he said. Carmela’s lips quirked. She’d been reading about Sindre’s species, and normally their names went on for at least a sentence, embodying traits that their parents or, when they reached adulthood, they wished to possess. The name Sindre had given her contained no traits at all. It was clearly a nickname.

“Nicknames so soon?” Carmela said lightly.

“Why not?” he said.

“Never mind,” Carmela said, dismissing the subject with a wave of her hand. “So what did you think of the use of ‘krech’ in ‘The Airwinged Flying Object Soars Overhead’?”

“I thought it was out of place,” he said. “They should really have used ‘xhiret’. It’s too abrupt for the narrator.”

“You think so?” Carmela said. “The narrator isn’t fooling anyone. That’s why it’s important they use something so rude.”

“Shhh,” the person next to her said sternly. “It’s about to start.”

“We should swap messenger handles,” Carmela whispered. “What are you doing next weekend?”

They were shushed again before they could exchange handles. Instead, during question time, Carmela pulled out her phone and typed her username on it to show Sindre. He nodded and pulled out an ovoid about the size of Carmela’s fist, which emitted a soft reddish purple glow. The color changed to a pure deep purple as he touched it, tendrils lifting and waving gently as he interacted with it. A few moments later, her phone buzzed with the notification of a new contact.

She blinked, and then tried not to snicker at the name. It loosely translated to ‘fluffy small animal frolicking in the meadow free of all cares’.

“I know,” he said with a sigh. “I go on my adult quest next month to claim my true name.”

“I can see why you go by Sindre,” Carmela said.

“ _Shhhh_ ,” her neighbor on the other side hissed. Carmela shrugged and smiled apologetically.

Later, she mouthed to Sindre, who nodded in agreement.

*

“Do you have plans?” Carmela announced as she entered their room. Dairine looked up from Spot and frowned.

“Not really? Why? Do I have to leave because you’re bringing a boy around? I came second in the tournament, by the way.”

“No,” Carmela said, wrinkling her nose. “I wouldn’t do that.” She would, if she were alone. But that was a different story. She frowned as she took in Spot’s screen. “What are you doing?”

“I’m hacking the Crossings’ network, for free wifi,” Dairine said.

“Useful to know for when we get arrested,” Carmela said. “But we have plans. We are going to the con dance.”

“Hah,” Dairine said flatly.

“We are!”

“You’re not serious.” Dairine said, frowning.

“Course I am,” Carmela said. “It’s traditional. Cultural.”

“It’s loud and annoying,” Dairine said.

“That’s why it’s fun,” Carmela said. “Besides, we promised Sker’ret a full recording. That means the party.”

Dairine’s gaze flicked to whatever she was working on with Spot before she sighed dramatically. “Fine. But only because Sker’ret would want it.”

When they arrived, the party was already in full swing. It was dimly lit, Carmela could feel the music right down to her bones and there were enough people dancing that she could barely stop herself joining in right away. Carmela grinned at the sight of it. Dairine, more sanguine, raised her eyebrows.

“For Sker,” she said, sounding more like she was going to a funeral than joining a party.

“Your face will get stuck like that,” she said. That said, Carmela casually steered Dairine towards like-minded individuals, wrapped in unobtrusive wizardries that allowed them to talk freely without having to yell over the music. There was a shiver of light as they stepped into the wizardry, and then the music was muffled, as if heard from a party down the street. The group, magical and otherwise, stopped to look at the newcomers and then waved them into the group.

“It’s the lady of the hour!” a Rirhait teenaged girl said. “Watching you destroy Ketr was _amazing_.”

“It was okay,” Dairine said. “I’ll do better next time.”

Carmela watched for a moment, and then turned to step outside the wizardry. Then she stopped.

In fact, everything had stopped, except for a pig, which had appeared out of nowhere and looked very amused by everything.

“Hello, time-stopping pig!” Carmela said. As she said it, she realized who she was talking to. She had read up about the Transcendent Pig and Carmela had to admire its style. If she were an omnipotent, omnipresent pig she might too maintain an air of mischievous mystery.

“Hello,” the Transcendent Pig said cheerfully. “You’re not going to ask me about the meaning of life?”

“No,” Carmela said, rocking back on her heels to look over the crowd. It was much easier now that she was outside of time to look at them, and she gazed at them while she considered her answer. Now that she thought about it, it really was a silly question, and certainly not one she’d waste an omnipotent being’s time on. “Because I already know.” She turned to the Pig and grinned. “Besides, where would the fun be if you just _told_ me?”

The Pig laughed. “You’re going to be an interesting one,” it said, and returned Carmela to normal time. Carmela watched in poorly concealed amusement as Dairine blinked in surprise.

“What’s the meaning of life?” Dairine blurted out, pointing dramatically at the Pig, as if anyone else would ever be asked the question.

“I told you that would happen,” the Pig said to Carmela. “Or I will tell you.”

“I think you just did tell me,” Carmela said, frowning. Keeping track of timelines when speaking with the Pig was harder than she thought it would be.

Dairine scowled at both of them. “You two were talking, weren’t you?” she said in poorly disguised annoyance.

“Nothing important,” Carmela said. “Miss Piggy and I were just talking about personal matters.”

“Miss Piggy?” From the choked way that Dairine said that, she was torn between laughter and annoyance. Carmela was not sure how a Pig could radiate sheer amusement, but somehow it did.

“Have fun,” it said, and vanished.

“Ughhh,” Dairine groaned fervently. “I don’t even know why we’re meant to do that. It’s not like it’ll ever tell us anyway.”

For a moment, Carmela considers telling Dairine about her conversation with the Transcendent Pig and that the mere asking of the question indicates that you wouldn’t understand the answer.

Then she decided against it.

The party is moving along nicely, there were cute aliens to meet, and Dairine either would come to that realisation or not.

“Come on, let it go,” Carmela said. “Go back to your adoring crowd.”

“I will,” Dairine said with a grin, and went back to them.


End file.
